


Tumblr Drabbles

by lindirs_gaze



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Attempted Seduction, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Shire Retirement, bagginshield adventure duo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindirs_gaze/pseuds/lindirs_gaze
Summary: Recently got an influx of requests for drabbles on tumblr, so I'm compiling them all here.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Bofur, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	1. Bagginshield: “Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, curses!”

Bilbo opened the door to Bag End, wincing slightly at the blast of cold air and blinding white of the hills outside. Once his vision adjusted, he looked around, but he could not find either of the other inhabitants of the house.

“Frodo? Thorin?”

With a sigh, he slipped on his cloak and stepped outside. He followed the footprints in the snow–a pair of heavy dwarven boots alongside a pair of tiny hobbit feet–around the hill. The snow had been disturbed enough to reveal a few dark flecks of grass beneath, and it was here that he found his missing nephew and husband.

Frodo was sprawled into the snow next to a round-bellied snow-hobbit with a carrot for a nose and two buttons for eyes. He was trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue, but when he saw Bilbo approaching, he leapt to his feet.

“Uncle Bilbo! Look what I made!”

“A very fine snow-hobbit, I see.” He brushed a few clumps of snow out of his nephew’s hair. “Well done, Frodo. Why don’t you go change your clothes, and I’ll make some hot chocolate for you?”

“Yes!” Frodo sprinted towards the front door, leaving tiny sprays of snow with each footstep.

“He’ll be a fine stonecrafter yet,” Thorin said. “Or snowcrafter, I suppose.”

Bilbo stepped around Frodo’s snow-hobbit to get a look at Thorin’s own project. His was more well-defined and correctly proportioned, and looked rather familiar.

He moved closer and put his hands on his hips. “Who’s that supposed to be, then?”

“No one in particular,” Thorin replied, using his thumb to add more detail to the snow-hobbit’s curly hair.

“Is that so?”

“Well, I only wanted some company, since I was out here alone in the cold while you were sequestered in our warm smial.” Thorin bent down to collect another handful of snow.

“For the record, you were not alone out here,” Bilbo said with a smile. He rather wanted to kiss the tip of Thorin’s nose, which had turned red in the cold. “But if you are wanting some company, I would be happy to take you back inside and warm you up.”

“Heading back inside so soon?” Thorin had his back to him, but the smile in his voice was audible. Then Bilbo noticed he was shaping something between his palms. “I take it you’re not very fond of the cold.”

Bilbo wagged a finger at him. “Don’t you dare throw that snowba–curses!” He ducked as a white projectile sailed over his head. “All right, if it’s going to be like that…” He gathered up his own snowball and threw it at Thorin, who dodged it with a laugh.

Thorin threw another projectile in retaliation, but Bilbo had already taken partial cover behind Frodo’s snow-hobbit.

“Using your nephew’s work as a shield? A cowardly move, Master Baggins.”

“Well, it wasn’t very noble for you to ambush me like that, Master Baggins,” Bilbo retorted. He gathered up another fistful of snow and packed it into a tight shape. As he cocked his arm back, Thorin dodged to the left, but Bilbo had not won a conkers championship because of his poor aim.

The snowball sailed through the air–and decapitated Bilbo’s snow-look-alike.

“Oh, goodness!” Bilbo froze. “I’m sorry, Thorin!”

Thorin looked over the now-headless snow-hobbit, then turned to Bilbo. “Don’t worry. Such things are not meant to last.” He crossed their small battlefield and grasped Bilbo’s arms, pulling him closer. “And why should I complain, when I have the real thing right in front of me?”

Bilbo leaned up and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, then his lips. “Come on. Let’s head back inside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want more snowball-related nonsense with these two, feel free to check out my other work In the Winter Light!


	2. Bagginshield: “Wait a minute, are you jealous?”

The hall was crowded and filled with light, and Bilbo was exhausted.

Mind you, he was enjoying himself tremendously. This was the first real celebratory feast he’d experienced in Erebor, and like everything else in the dwarvish kingdom, it was almost overwhelmingly ostentatious. There was food and music and a roaring fire, intermingled with laughter and stomping feet. Bilbo had tried more new, delicious foods than he could count, and he had met a number of interesting and friendly dwarves besides. It was all very enjoyable, but after a few hours, he was thinking more and more of slipping away and crawling into bed.

“And you say hobbit houses are built beneath the earth?” the dwarf next to him asked, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, yes. So I suppose hobbits and dwarves are not so different after all, at least in that regard,” Bilbo said with a smile. The black-haired dwarf, Grómi, seemed rather eager to learn more about Bilbo and his people. They’d run into each other quite a few times over the course of the night, enough that Bilbo no longer considered it coincidental. Not that he minded–he was quite happy to make new friends, being a bit of a stranger under the mountain, in more ways than one.

“Not so different, indeed,” Grómi said with a smile. “I have heard also that hobbits are able to hold their liquor.”

“I suppose so.” There was plenty of ale to go around, but Bilbo had not partaken in much.

Grómi leaned in conspiratorially. “If you’re wanting some of the good stuff, you should come to The Crystal Spear. It’s a tavern nearby.”

“I will certainly keep an eye out for it.”

“Aye. Perhaps I’ll see you there.”

Bilbo nodded. He had a feeling this was not the last time he would run into Grómi. “Well, it was lovely talking to you. If you’ll excuse me…”

“Have a good night, Master Baggins.”

He stifled a yawn and made his way towards the side doors leading out of the hall. It was a wonder the rest of the dwarves were still just as energetic as they had been at the start of the feast.

“It’s all about that classic dwarvish endurance,” Bofur had said when he’d commented on it earlier. Then he’d waggled his eyebrows in such a ridiculously suggestive expression that ale had come out of Ori’s nose.

As Bilbo neared the doors, he spotted Thorin standing near the wall, arms crossed. He’d been more subdued than most of his kin throughout the night, though Bilbo supposed that was just Thorin being Thorin. He’d also caught him scowling occasionally when no one was looking, and was beginning to wonder if he simply didn’t like feasts, and was only here to keep up appearances.

But Thorin seemed to perk up slightly as he caught sight of Bilbo. He nodded to him, then moved to meet him at the doors. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes, I think I might turn in,” Bilbo said with a slightly apologetic smile. “It’s been a long night.”

“I’ll walk you back to your chambers.”

“Oh.” Perhaps Thorin had been looking for an excuse to leave. “All right, then. Thank you.”

They stepped through the doors together, the sounds of the feast immediately fading as they shut behind them.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself,” Thorin said softly as they walked.

“I did.” Bilbo smiled. “Quiet different from a Shire party, but the food was quite good. And I met a number of friendly dwarves.”

“Aye,” was all Thorin said, a slight edge in his tone.

Bilbo glanced at him, but Thorin’s expression had turned stonily impassive. “Is everything all right?”

“Of course. You are free to spend your time with whomever you please.”

He blinked at the strange answer. “Well, yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I–” Thorin frowned slightly. “There is no reason…” He cleared his throat. “I misspoke. Forgive me.”

Bilbo wasn’t quite ready to let it go, however. He thought back to the feast, to his conversations with Grómi and Thorin’s glowering expression… “Wait a minute, were you jealous?”

Thorin turned to him, his eyes widening slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I saw the way you were looking at me,” he took a deep breath, sincerely hoping he wasn’t off course with this one, “and the dwarves I’ve been speaking with. I thought you were only in a bad mood, but…”

Thorin looked away. “I hope I did not offend you.”

Bilbo let out a short sigh. Up until recently, he had been under the impression that dwarves were supposed to be straightforward. “So, were you jealous or not?”

After a long moment of silence, Thorin said quietly, “I was. But I do not want my feelings to…to hinder you from any relationship you may choose to have with another.”

“Oh.” Bilbo blinked rapidly, trying to come to terms with what Thorin had just said. Here was this mighty dwarf king, one of the bravest and most handsome people he’d ever met, getting jealous because another dwarf had asked him to a tavern. He almost laughed at the prospect, but stopped himself at the last second to spare Thorin’s feelings. “Well, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”

Thorin’s gaze was tentatively hopeful as he asked, “What do you mean by that?”

They both stopped walking–they’d reached the door to Bilbo’s chambers.

With a smile, Bilbo reached out and took Thorin’s hand. “Would you like to come inside for a while?”


	3. Bagginshield: “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

Dusk had fallen over the woods. The sun had disappeared, obscured by the Misty Mountains at their back, but the quiet orange glow remained in the gaps between the trees.

Thorin left the small camp they’d made at the base of Carrock, ignoring the throb in his shoulder as he walked. Óin had patched up the warg bite for him, but it would take time to heal.

A little ways into the trees, he found Bilbo kneeling at the edge of the river. He was only wearing his thin shirt, his waistcoat set to the side as he scrubbed his coat in the clear water.

Thorin tried not to stare too much at how the soft white linen revealed beneath–it was by no means a tight-fitting piece of clothing, but it wasn’t exactly loose, either. “Master Baggins.”

Bilbo turned around at the sound of his voice. “Oh. I was just washing some of my clothes. My coat picked up quite a bit of grit when we were in the mountains, and it’s been terribly uncomfortable.” He rubbed the back of his neck, as if to punctuate his statement.

“You should stay close to camp. It’s not safe to be out here on your own.”

Bilbo paused, one hand still clutching his coat, which was beginning to drip onto his trousers. “Are we not safe here?”

It was true that the eagles had carried them swiftly, and far from the hillside where the orcs had attacked. If Azog and his cursed pack had survived the fire, it would take them weeks to overtake his Company again. But they were not the only dangers that stood between them and Erebor. “We are still in the Wild, Master Baggins. If you have need to leave camp, take someone with you.”

“Fair enough.” Bilbo held out his coat over the river and began wringing out the sleeves. “I’m almost done, here. I’ll be back to camp shortly.”

Thorin grunted an acknowledgement and went to stand closer to the river, one hand resting on his sword. He saw no sign that anything was about to attack him, but the woods were growing darker now, and it was better to be safe than sorry.

Bilbo glanced at him. “Uh, you don’t have to wait for me. I don’t want to keep you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Thorin replied. “As you said, you’re almost done.”

Bilbo shrugged at that and continued his efforts to dry out his coat. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Stiff. But it will heal.” He was fortunate it had not been his sword arm.

“That’s good to hear.” Bilbo lowered his gaze to his damp clothing. “I was worried about you.”

His expression softened. He was fortunate as well that Bilbo’s bravery had saved his life. “You fought well, back there. But your skills can still improve.”

“I won’t argue with that. I think I was acting on instinct more than anything else.” He sat back on his heels and looked Thorin over, his eyes resting on his sword. “Would you be willing to teach me? O-Once you’re healed, of course.”

“Aye, I could do that.”

“I would appreciate that very much. I doubt I will ever be a great warrior like the rest of you, but it would be nice not to charge into the next battle in a blind panic.”

Thorin smiled at that. It was not Bilbo’s skill (or lack thereof) with a sword that impressed him, but rather the fact that he had charged into a pack of orcs despite his lack of experienced. There was loyalty in courage in the hobbit that he had not seen before, but now he knew better than to underestimate him.

He realized Bilbo was looking at him with wide eyes. “Have I strayed into a dream, or did you just crack a smile for me?”

Thorin raised his eyebrows in turn, schooling his expression into a more neutral one. “Does that come as a surprise to you?”

Bilbo cleared his throat, his face reddening all the way to the tips of his pointy ears. Thorin thought it rather…endearing, although he would never say so out loud. “Well, it’s nice to know your face can do more than scowl.”

Thorin huffed at the comment, though he was not particularly offended by it. “Perhaps we both underestimated each other, Master Baggins.”

“Perhaps.” Bilbo shook his clothes out one last time and stood up. “Shall we?”

And Thorin could not help but smile again, secretly, as they headed back to camp.


	4. Bagginshield: “YOU DID WHAT?!”

Bilbo was laughing so hard he was in danger of tipping over. “ _You did what_?”

Thorin smiled, a slight blush on his cheeks. “I’ll remind you, I was very young when this happened.”

They were sitting on the couch in Thorin’s chambers, the fire in the hearth burning hot even as nighttime descended. Bilbo had a glass of wine in hand and even more in his belly, and a warm coziness had descended over him like a blanket. He propped his head in his hand, elbow leaning on the back of the couch, and raised an eyebrow at Thorin. “How old were you?”

“Old enough that I should have known better, young enough that I was able to get away with it with only a slight reprimand.” 

It was hardly an answer, but Bilbo supposed he must have been quite young, as this had been his first hunting trip, back before the fall of Erebor.

Bilbo sighed as his chuckles died down. “All right, so you saw the bear, you threw a _rock_ at it, and then what?”

“I fled. The bear gave chase, and I ended up climbing a tree to escape it.”

Fighting back another burst of laughter, Bilbo said, “But I suppose no giant eagles came to rescue.”

“No. The bear lost interest after a while and wandered away. And then I…was able to climb down.”

After a moment, Bilbo asked, “You got stuck in the tree, didn’t you?”

Thorin cleared his throat. “My memory isn’t exactly clear on that part…”

Another fit of giggles struck him, and the wineglass nearly tipped from his hand. Thorin took it from him and set it on the side table. “I think you’ve had a little too much to drink, _amrâlimê_ , if you are taking this much amusement in my suffering.”

“All right.” Bilbo slid down so his head was resting in Thorin’s lap and looked up at him with what he hoped was a serious expression, though he could feel his lips twitching. “Tell me what happened next. I want to know if this story has a happy ending.”

“Very well.” One of Thorin’s hands came to rest in his curls, fingers gently stroking his scalp, while the other landed on his chest. “Dwalin found me after a while, and spent even longer mocking me. But eventually I was able to make it down, and as you can see, I made it out of the forest unscathed.”

“That was a very nice tale.” Bilbo closed his eyes, reveling at the sensation of Thorin’s hand in his hair. “And I am glad that you’re here.”

“As am I,” Thorin said, and the warmth in his voice was the last thing he heard before falling asleep.


	5. Bagginshield: “I think we need to talk.”

Thorin immediately straightened and set aside his quill as Bilbo pushed open the door to his study. He’d been looking through some particularly tedious documents about trade agreements, and was ready to welcome any distraction --the fact that it was Bilbo was only an added bonus.

His relief diminished, however, as he caught sight of the tension in Bilbo’s posture.

Bilbo pursed his lips for a moment, then said, “We need to talk.”

Thorin gestured for him to sit in one of the chairs on the other side of his desk, trying not to dwell on the nervousness in his voice.

Bilbo’s gaze fell to the papers on his desk. “I’m dreadfully sorry. You’re working right now. I can come back at a later time...” He began backing up towards the door.

“No.” Thorin was not sure he would be able to concentrate at all, now that he knew something was bothering his friend. “Please, have a seat. We can discuss it now.”

After a moment of hesitation, Bilbo rocked on his heels, then acquiesced and sat down across from him. “It’s not very important,” he muttered.

“If it is making you uneasy, then it is important to me,” Thorin said, and gestured for him to continue.

Bilbo’s expression softened slightly at that. “Well,” he began, and shifted in his seat. “You remember that party we had last week, yes?”

Thorin nodded. It had been a private gathering between the members of his Company, something they held fairly often.

At Bilbo’s doubtful look, he conceded, “I remember most of it.” Dwalin had goaded him into a drinking contest, and by the end of the party, his memories had grown...hazy, to say the least.

“Well, I only wanted to, um, discuss with you some things that were said at the party. Towards the end of it.” Bilbo had interlocked his fingers, flexing them awkwardly.

Thorin frowned. “Did I say something that offended you?” He was not as rowdy as Dwalin while drunk (as Balin was wont to say about his brother, _half a dozen pints and something always ends up broken_ ), but his inhibitions were often lowered, especially when it came to his comments about elves.

“No, no.” Bilbo’s gaze fell to the desk, patches of red spreading on his cheeks. “Rather the opposite, actually.”

 _Oh_. Thorin could feel his own face heating up. He supposed it was only a matter of time before his feelings for Bilbo came to light (more than they already had, given the teasing some of the others had subjected him to).

“I...I apologize if I overstepped, or--”

“N-No, that wasn’t the problem, Thorin.” Bilbo held up both hands. “I only wanted to know if you meant what you said.” He held Thorin’s gaze for a moment, then gave a brief, awkward chuckle. “But of course you wouldn’t have remembered it.”

Thorin’s mouth was dry as he said, “Tell me.”

“Well, you were slurring your words quite a bit.” Bilbo cast his gaze to the side. The flush spread across his face and neck was rather becoming, and Thorin tried not to stare. “It was just something about, uh, me being one of the most incredible people you’ve ever met...” Bilbo sent a brief glance towards him, as though looking for a confirmation of his statement. “And that I had your...your heart.”

Thorin sat back and cleared his throat. Well, that wasn’t so bad--at least he hadn’t said anything particularly explicit. Whatever Bilbo’s reaction might be, he could tell him nothing but the truth. “I can confirm that those statements were made sincerely.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened slightly. He stared at him for a long moment, then a small smile appeared on his face. “Well, that’s good. I-I’m glad we could clear that up.”

Thorin nodded, unsure what to say next. He was suddenly aware of the large, inconvenient desk sitting in between them.

“Would you like to have dinner?” Bilbo asked, speaking quickly as though he were afraid of hesitating. “J-Just the two of us.”

The words were enough to break him out of his uncertainty, and Thorin smiled. “I would like that. Tonight, perhaps?”

“Yes! But I think we should stick to water, hm?” Bilbo added with a knowing look.

Thorin chuckled. “That sounds reasonable.”

“I will see you tonight, then.” 


	6. Bagginshield: “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”

Thorin was having a…difficult day, to put it mildly.

The road between Erebor and the Iron Hills was supposed to be safe. His diplomatic visit to Dáin’s realm had been mostly uneventful, and he’d been expecting the same from the return journey.

Unfortunately, such expectations had not come to pass. A sudden storm and a bad stroke of luck had caused a landslide that had left him without most of his supplies and separated from the contingent of guards traveling with him–and with a generous coating of mud, to boot.

He could count himself lucky, at least, that he was not alone. Bilbo had been traveling with him on the same war ram, and now the two of them would have to find a way out of this predicament together.

Night had fallen, and the two of them were crouched at the top of a rocky outcropping, gazing down at the orc pack camped just below.

“You know, we could always sneak past them,” Bilbo said, scratching a bit of dried mud from the back of his neck.

“If there’s this many camped here, there’s no doubt they have scouts nearby,” Thorin said. “We may not be able to make it without being seen.”

“I’m sure we’d blend right into the forest,” Bilbo muttered, scowling at his stained clothing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this filthy.” He glanced at the orcs again. “Are you sure we couldn’t backtrack?”

“This is the only way through the vale,” Thorin said. “And it would be too dangerous to try and traverse the landslide again.” He glanced back the way they’d come…and an idea began to form.

“Oh, no,” Bilbo said. “You’re getting that look in your eyes.”

“If we lure the orcs back this way,” Thorin began, then turned to Bilbo. “What look?”

“The same one you had right before you suggested we try and drown a dragon in melted gold.” Bilbo gave him a look that was part exasperation, part fondness. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Thorin tried not to glare in return. “I am only saying that, if we lure the orcs to the other end of the vale, the landslide may finish the job for us–or at least make them easier targets.” When Bilbo continued to look at him, unimpressed, he added, “If you have a better idea, Master Baggins, I am eager to hear it.”

After another moment, a smile spread on Bilbo’s face. “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”

“Then perhaps we can proceed without you continuing to mock me.”

Bilbo’s smile grew, and Thorin found that he couldn’t maintain his stern expression as Bilbo leaned into kiss him. “All right, then. Let’s go bury these orcs–and afterwards see what we can do about a bath.”


	7. Bagginshield: “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

Flakes of snow swirled around them, landing in drifts on the icy stone, but Bilbo’s lungs were burning with exertion. He had not expected the path to Ravenhill to be so steep, but panic and desperation had forced any thoughts of exhaustion from his mind.

It was only now, standing before Thorin and seeing him whole and _sane_ , that relief allowed a bit of the fatigue he was feeling to trickle into his consciousness.

It had been a long week indeed, and they still had work to do.

“We need to find Fíli and Kíli,” Thorin said, his blue eyes burning with determination. “If what you say is true, then this was meant as a trap from the start.”

Dwalin tightened his grip on his axe. “Why not finish it now? If that beast has something planned, he must be nearby.”

“No. This is a fight we cannot win.” Thorin’s voice lowered slightly. “And I will not risk my nephews in this endeavor.”

“Fine,” Dwalin said, lowering his weapon. “We make for the towers.”

Both dwarves made for one of the cracked stone doorways, and Bilbo forced himself to find the courage to speak. “Thorin.”

Thorin paused, and the battle-ready mask he was wearing softened slightly. “Dwalin. Scout ahead, but stay within earshot.”

Dwalin glanced between the two of them, his expression conveying something along the lines of, _You two better make this quick,_ then turned and passed through the doorway.

Bilbo shifted his weight, his heart beginning to pound. There was still so much left unsaid between them, not least because they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. But now there was a chance they would never get to say that now, and the thought made it feel as though the very earth was falling from beneath his feet.

He took a deep breath, anxiety swirling in his lungs like flakes of snow. “I think I’m in love with you.” His hands were beginning to shake. “And I’m terrified.”

Thorin took a step towards him, eyes brimming with emotion--guilt, sadness, and something that might have been hope. “Bilbo...”

He let out a short sigh that burned in his throat. He’d said his piece, and he had no control over what happened next. Not to mention they had a battle to finish. “W-We should go. Catch up with Dwalin.”

Thorin moved closer. He looked as if he wanted to reach out, but his hand stayed on his sword. “By my life, Bilbo, I will see that you survive this. It is the least I can do after...after everything you have done for me and my Company. And afterwards...”

 _Afterwards_. The word steadied him a little. For now, it would have to be enough to believe in an after.

Bilbo nodded, and the two of them moved together into the shadows of the doorway.


	8. Boffins: “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

Stifling a yawn, Bilbo said goodnight to Nori, Balin, and Bifur, who were gathered in the main room for a nightcap, then headed up the stairs to his bedroom.

It had been a busy day, between sneaking into Lake-town, getting caught, and then finding out that the townspeople were not entirely opposed to their presence, especially if there was gold involved.

The Master had been quick to offer them a small building with rooms to rest in while they prepared for the next stage of their journey. They’d all been glad to have somewhere to sleep that wasn’t the cold ground or the floor of a prison cell, and they’d been gladder still when the man had offered them drinks to celebrate.

Bilbo himself hadn’t partaken in much--the ale offered to them had been rather sour, and tasted a bit too watered down for his taste. He wouldn't have minded a glass (or several) of red, but if there was one thing this journey had taught him, it was that adventurers couldn’t be choosers. At the moment, he was quite ready to lay his head down on a _real_ pillow and get some rest.

He opened the door to the room where he had left his things earlier, and froze. “Um, Bofur.”

He received a wide, charming grin in response. “Yes, Bilbo?”

Bilbo remembered himself and hastily closed the door behind him. “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

Bofur’s eyes widened in feigned embarrassment. “Oh. My apologies, Bilbo. Here I was thinking this was _my_ bed. There must be some sort of mistake.”

“Yes, well, we did agree to share.” Bilbo could feel his cheeks begin to heat up. This seemed to be the latest development in...whatever was going on between him and Bofur, something that had begun sometime after they had arrived in Beorn’s and had unfortunately been stalled by the events afterwards. Mirkwood was hardly a romantic getaway, after all.

He’d enjoyed the kisses and the closeness, but this was rather new--Bofur, lying on the bed and propped up on one elbow, wearing not a stitch of clothing except for his hat. (Bilbo was beginning to suspect it was somehow attached to his head.)

“Well, in that case...” Bofur patted the empty spot on the bed beside him.

Blushing, Bilbo crossed the room to sit down on the edge of the bed. It was getting rather hard to keep his eyes on Bofur’s face, though he was fairly sure the dwarf wouldn’t have minded otherwise. “So, I don’t know what you were planning for tonight, but--”

Both of them jumped as the door burst open.

“...and so I told him that I was only passing through, at least for now,” Kíli was saying to his brother, the high volume at which he was speaking betraying just how much of the cheap ale he had consumed. “And then he said--oh.” He stopped short, having turned to look where he was going.

The four of them stared at each other for a moment. Bilbo could feel mortification creeping hot up his neck, although he still had all his clothes on.

“A bit awkward, this,” Bofur finally said, sounding impressively composed. “I was planning on there only being two of us.”

Both brothers began stammering excuses, looking anywhere but the bed, and Bilbo threw up his hands. “For goodness’ sake, will you two _get out?”_

Fíli grabbed his brother by the back of his tunic and all but yanked him out of the room, slamming the door shut soon after. Bilbo sighed, shoulders slumping.

“I hope that didn’t ruin the mood,” Bofur said, sounding slightly hesitant.

“No, but I think I would do well to lock the door.” Bilbo stood up and crossed the room to do just that. “And maybe find something heavy to put against it, for good measure.”

Bofur began to chuckle at that, and soon the both of them were caught in a fit of laughter. Bilbo braced himself against the door and spared a moment to smile at his beautiful dwarf, at that charming grin that never failed to lift his heart, and everything else that was bared to him in that moment.

Before he knew it, he was on the other side of the room and climbing into bed next to him. “I think we’ve wasted enough time already. Shall we?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Bofur reached out, arms winding around his waist as Bilbo pulled his hat off, set it on the beside table, and leaned in to kiss him.


	9. Bagginshield: Engraved daggers

Bilbo adjusted the straps of his pack and looked himself over in the mirror. He thought he looked quite ready for travel, with the collar of the mithril shirt glinting beneath his new green tunic. Dori had knitted him a new pair of gloves, too, under the insistence that it could get chilly up in the Grey Mountains.

He and Thorin, along with a group of guards and a few other officials, were taking a trip up north to visit some of Thorin’s distant kin to the north. It was his first time going any farther than Dale since first arriving in Erebor, and Bilbo was rather looking forward to being on the road again--provided they didn’t get ambushed by orcs or the like.

Bilbo turned towards the door, but before he could begin to leave, Thorin walked through, looking slightly out of breath.

His simple blue shirt was slightly damp with sweat, his hair pulled back into a tail at his nape. He carried the slightly smoky scent of the forge, and Bilbo was slightly surprised to find the whole combination rather attractive.

“Thorin.” He smiled. “The others are already preparing to leave. Why aren’t you ready yet?”

“Ah.” Thorin stopped short, and Bilbo noticed for the first time a small cloth-wrapped object in his hand. “I suppose I lost track of time.”

“Getting in some last-minute metalworking?” Bilbo’s smile grew. “I thought you would have been finishing up some paperwork, if anything.”

“I finished it all. I wanted to have time for...” Thorin glanced down at the object in his hand. When he looked up, a quiet tenderness had entered his gaze. The expression never failed to make his heart melt. “Well, I wanted to have this done before we left.” He stepped forward and offered the cloth to Bilbo.

Bilbo slipped his pack from his shoulders and accepted it. The object was fairly heavy and still slightly warm from the forge. He unwrapped the cloth, revealing a dagger about six inches long. It was made in the typical dwarvish fashion, with a wide blade and an angular hilt. But engraved just above the guard was an acorn, and Bilbo let out a soft laugh at the sight.

“You made this for me?”

“It is a gift,” Thorin said. “An assurance of safe travels.”

Bilbo’s gaze drifted down to the blade itself, where a row of Khuzdul runes had been engraved. Though he could speak the language fairly well, he was still a bit rusty when it came to reading. “And what does this say?”

Thorin brought his hands up to grasp his upper arms. “ _D’amrâlê khathiz.”_

 _To my eternal love_. Bilbo looked up, his heart welling so full he thought it might burst. Even after all this time, Thorin’s attentiveness and devotion never ceased to make him feel like the luckiest hobbit in the world.

“Thank you. I will treasure it always.”

Thorin smiled, blue eyes shining. “May it serve you well.” He leaned down to kiss him.

Bilbo set the dagger off to the side (as that was not the sort of thing one wanted to be getting in the way) and wound his arms around Thorin’s neck, kissing him thoroughly.

After a moment, he pulled back with a grin. “Well, you certainly need a bath before we head out. But first...”

Thorin raised an eyebrow, immediately catching onto his suggestive smile. “You would keep the esteemed members of the Council of Erebor waiting?”

“I most certainly would.”

And Bilbo laughed as Thorin picked him up and carried him into the bedroom.


	10. Bagginshield: Sick Hurt/Comfort

A pair of strong hands grasped him under the arms and lifted him out of the water. Bilbo spluttered and gasped for air as rivulets of cold water dripped from his hair and onto his cheeks.

“Bilbo.” Thorin sounded breathless, panicked. “Bilbo, are you all right?”

“I think so,” Bilbo replied, though his teeth immediately started chattering. He blinked the remaining droplets away from his eyes. “Must have lost my grip on the barrel back there.”

It was then that he realized his feet were not touching anything except the flowing cold water of the river, and that Thorin was holding him up as if he weighed nothing more than a sack of flour.

“Y-You can put me down, now,” he said, a measure of heat flooding onto his face, contrasting uncomfortably with the chill on his skin.

“All right.” Thorin set him down, so the water reached his chest, but he kept a steadying grip on Bilbo’s arm. “We’ve reached the banks of the river.”

They had indeed, Bilbo realized as they began wading towards dry land. The others, as well as most of the barrels they’d used to escape, were gathered on the rocks at the edge of the river.

Though he didn’t really need it, he was glad to have Thorin’s steadying hand guiding him through the water. He was beginning to shiver uncontrollably, and his soaked clothes were clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

A strange thought occurred to him. Thorin had called him _Bilbo_ when he’d lifted him from the water. Beforehand, even as recently as the moment they had escaped from Thranduil’s dungeons, Thorin had addressed him as Master Baggins.

It was a small change, but it meant quite a lot to Bilbo, and he allowed himself a small smile as the two of them clambered onto the bank of the river.

* * *

Shivering, Bilbo sniffled again and burrowed further into the scratchy sheets of the four-poster bed. The fabric was rather uncomfortable, but it was warm, and given the appearance of the rest of Lake-town, he supposed he couldn’t really be surprised.

It was quite inconvenient that he’d caught such a nasty cold right before the most important leg of their journey. Balin had assured him that they had time to wait for him to get better, but it still felt like a rather awkward change in momentum after their daring escape from Mirkwood.

The door opened, slowly, though the hinges still creaked a bit. Bilbo lifted his head and smiled as Thorin stepped inside.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.” Thorin crossed the room to the bed, a steaming mug in one hand.

“Not at all.” Bilbo disentangled his arms from the covers and sat up. Thorin was swift to set the mug on the bedside table and help rearrange the pillows so he would be more comfortable.

It was strange to see this new side of him. Óin had been in to see him a couple of times, giving him a tonic to bring down his fever and prescribing plenty of rest besides. But Thorin had been in and out several times, bringing in extra blankets and the least fishy-smelling broth he could procure, among other things.

Not that Bilbo minded any of it. There were certainly worse ways one could be treated while sick with a cold.

Once he was situated, Thorin picked up the mug and held it out. “Chamomile tea. Dori recommended it.”

“Oh.” Bilbo accepted the mug, letting the ceramic warm his palms, and breathed in the familiar flowery scent. “Thank you, Thorin. This is just what I needed.”

“Good.” He straightened. “If there’s anything else I can get for you...”

Bilbo smiled. “I am perfectly content at the moment. Although...” He glanced down at the amber liquid in his palms. “I wouldn’t mind some company.”

Thorin hesitated for a second, then sat down on the edge of the bed. The mattress shifted slightly with his weight.

Bilbo took a sip of his tea and hummed appreciatively. “I am sorry about the delay, though. I know this is an awful time to have to wait.”

“Think nothing of it. Were it not for you, we would still be trapped beneath Thranduil’s Halls.” Thorin gave him a meaningful look, the kind that always made his heart swoop.

He brought the mug to his lips again and tried to will away the blush that was no doubt forming on his cheeks. “I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky that we escaped with only a little cold to show for it.” He couldn’t help but grin as Thorin laughed softly. “And I do appreciate, um...I appreciate the concern you have shown...in that matter.”

Thorin’s gaze softened. “I would have you return to good health as soon as possible. It is the least I can do.”

Bilbo lowered the mug and swallowed. It was _quite_ inconvenient that they were sitting here, alone in a bedroom, with Thorin looking at him like _that_ , and he was too sick and tired to do much of anything about it.

They spoke for a while longer--about Erebor, various sorts of teas, the ugly statue they’d seen passing through Lake-town. Eventually, Bilbo felt his eyes drooping, and he set down the empty mug on the bedside table.

“Get some rest.” Thorin reached out to squeeze his knee through the covers, then stood up. “I’ll come back in a little while.”

“I look forward to it.” Bilbo watched as Thorin retrieved the mug and disappeared through the door.

And as he burrowed under the covers once more, he felt nothing but warm.


End file.
